Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

if you need help.’ It pained her to say such things, but it was all in the name of acceptance. She only hoped that nobody was listening on the other side. Time was limited. She imagined the phone on her desk ringing, unanswered.

‘It’s her face . . . She’s no good to anyone like this.’ Matty shook his head, as if dismissing a dark thought. ‘Tina will sort it. She’s out looking after her.’ But he did not sound convinced. His phone shook as he rose from the sofa and approached a window. He peered through the grubby glass as Molly searched the background for clues.

‘Are you worried about going out? You must . . . you know, see stuff. What do you do when it all kicks off?’ Molly strained to hear background noise. A door closed in the distance, but there was nobody in view.

‘We have someone looking out for us. But if we cross the line . . .’ Stepping away from the window, Matty’s words were low. He seemed restless, prowling, like a caged animal. ‘We’re only here as long as we’re useful,’ he mumbled, before sitting down. ‘And I’ve got to play my part. It’s time for me to step up.’

‘What do you mean?’ Molly said, stretching out her legs.

‘Nuthin’,’ Matty replied, ‘just talking to myself.’ He returned his attention to Molly. ‘We’ll be out tonight same time, same place. If you want to come with us, it’s your last chance to get on Tina’s good side before we’re moved on.’

‘Ah no, whereabouts?’

‘Tina won’t tell me. She reckons I say too much.’ A small smile played on Matty’s lips as he acknowledged the truth.

‘Fancy spraying a few walls?’ Molly said, trying to work the subject of graffiti in. ‘I reckon I can sneak out.’

‘I’ve run out of paint,’ Matty replied, his face swivelling around. There was a voice growing louder, and a fleeting look of panic crossed his face. ‘That’s Tina. See you tonight, yeah?’

‘Will do, mate,’ Molly said, pressing a screenshot just before he ended the call. Quickly, she changed back into her shirt. At least she had captured his face. Now to write everything down while it was fresh in her mind. Paddy had not been waiting outside the door. She unpeeled the ‘do not disturb’ sign, hastily written on a Post-it note, that Paddy must have stuck to the door. So much for keeping watch, she thought, almost jumping out of her skin as Gary bumped into her.

‘You all right?’ Gary said, his eyebrows raised. ‘You got someone in there or what?’

‘I wish.’ Molly smiled, returning the cap and T-shirt to Steve’s gym bag. She needed to record the conversation before it escaped her. Matty and his friends were being shunted about from one place to another. Was April’s beating connected to George Shaw’s death?

Matty had obviously been in the care system, so there had to be a record of him somewhere. He had a father he didn’t know and a mother who had not been able to cope. But by the sounds of it now, he had run away. Her head down, she scribbled as much of their conversation as she could remember.

Was Tina running the show? She doubted it. Someone older was controlling them – this was organised crime. It was doubtful someone of Tina’s age would be able to transport them and find them all a place to stay as well as keeping them out of the public eye. She had wanted to ask him more but could not risk him smelling a rat. ‘I’ve got to play my part. It’s time for me to step up.’ Matty’s words rebounded in her mind. Was it Matty’s turn next? The thought of them being sex-trafficked was too ugly to contemplate. But she had pushed the young boy enough for one day. ‘We’re only around as long as we’re useful.’ His words had made her blood run cold. Had April outlived her usefulness? She would present her findings to the DCI and take it from there.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Amy huddled over her coffee cup, her head bowed. She was glad to escape the hospital, now Lillian was on the mend. The surgeon had told them that it could have gone either way. But Lady Luck had a twisted sense of humour and granted Lillian yet another chance. Why did she deserve such good fortune while innocent people died? And why had Lillian provided her with the information she needed to track down Sally-Ann’s daughter? Weariness seeped into Amy’s bones. She had visited her mum in the afternoon and showered to escape the memory of Lillian, scrubbing her skin until it was bright pink. Now she was sitting next to the window in a cafe in Notting Hill. Mercifully, it was half empty, taken up with a few couples caught up in their own worlds. Amy had scheduled a meeting with Darren before she returned to the coast. She didn’t want anyone from work to see her. She didn’t have the energy to explain herself.

Darren was younger than Amy expected, but he had a certain something about him. ‘An old head on young shoulders’, as her father would have said. He had an impressively thick beard and a kind yet determined face. He encased Amy’s hand in a firm grip before sitting down.

‘I suppose I should thank you,’ Amy said, as he rested his folder on the table. ‘But she wasn’t worth risking your life for.’

‘They weren’t interested in hurting me. She was lucky I was there.’

‘Good old Lady Luck,’ Amy said dolefully. ‘There’s plenty of people who’d say she got what she deserved.’

‘Once a copper always a copper.’ Darren shrugged. ‘You would have done the same.’

Amy wasn’t so sure. She hated her mother for making her think this way. ‘I can’t stay; I’ve got a live murder investigation on the go. You said you had some information?’

‘About her past, rather than her present. I did a bit of digging, figured you’d be interested.’

‘I’m not sure if I